More from Oliver Goldsmith

  1. That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise.
  2. To the last moment of his breath On hope the wretch relies; And e'en the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.
  3. Good people all, with one acord, Lament for Madame Blaize, Who never wanted a good word - From those who spoke her praise.
  4. Hope, like the gleaming taper's light, Adorns and cheers our way; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray.
  5. As writers become more numerous, it is natural for readers to become more indolent.
  6. Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po.
  7. One writer, for instance, excels at a plan or a title page, another works away at the body of the book, and a third is a dab at an index.
  8. Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, My heart untraveled fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags …

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